


A Gentle Push to Vulnerability

by prgs



Series: Tales of the Dragon Age, 4E [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, romantic hesitance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 03:31:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10631238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prgs/pseuds/prgs
Summary: An unremarkable moment, a quiet morning, a thought worth pondering.Him knowing that he shouldn't. Her knowing that she could.





	

It was morning in the Emerald Graves: warm light caught in the abundance of leaves and cast down a semi-transparent glow of pale yellow dust as august rams grazed lazily in some half-tranquil morning daze; a slow beginning to a peaceful day amongst overgrown roots and delicate flowers. Nissa and her companions had been travelling ambitiously the day previous and welcomed a rest at an Inquisition outpost; night came and went with little enough to complain about or fix; and for once, it seemed, they had a moment to relax. There was a soft, hazy atmosphere about.

Solas and Nissa sat together during breakfast and after; immersing themselves in each other's company and the kind start to the day. Nissa lay with her cheek on Solas' thigh, eyes closed, listening to the call of birds while she pivoted a flower between her fingers. She could hear the distant beating wings of a high dragon and pictured her in the air, dancing with the clouds. Solas had his fingers in her hair, braiding and caressing the pale locks fondly. _His_ thoughts were not distant; they were with her. Anything else, he knew, would stimulate some sort of reminder and therefore some sort of regret; and for a morning, at least, he wished to indulge his ill-fated feelings.

They were too often distant for the sake of propriety. Nissa had no frantic desire to hide her feelings, but Solas acted with an almost reserved civility in front of others and she, ever gentle and respectful, did not push him.

Interrupting this tranquility -this moment where it seemed that, for them, the world had paused- Sera spied the pair while off on an irritated, when-are-we-going-to-leave, morning walk. The break in their constant conflict had made her anxious, and as she watched the massive trees sway ever so slightly, she decided that _idleness_ is not always synonymous with peace.

She approached them with an almost frustrated heave of her shoulders.

“Oh, what? Inky, _ew_!” she said, scrunching her nose.

Nissa opened one eye to look up and offer a small, guilty smile.

“Good morning, Sera,” Solas offered when it was clear that Nissa wasn't going to be the one to break their silence.

His tone was already slightly annoyed, something Sera immediately noted and resented. _Pretentious tit_ , she felt like saying.

“Not _anymore_ , it isn't! Couldn't you do this in a. . . tree. . . or something?”

“We are simply sitting. Why does this offend you?”

Sera shifted her weight and dug her toe into the soft earth of the Graves. It wasn't her bloody place to _say_ , she knew, and either way -say something or keep quiet- _someone_ would give her shit for it, because she knew others felt as she did on _this_ , at least.

“It's just. . . _wrong._ The big hero is supposed to be with the other, less big, more-fit hero, not the elfy magic guy who naps for demons!”

Solas sighed, but Nissa's spirits would not be quelled so easily and she regarded Sera's words with more amusement than annoyance. What were opinions compared to their assurance in each other; to the unspoken connection between herself and her lover? _That_ was the gentle hand which guided her; the warm, resolute, ethereal feeling of _togetherness_ that seemed to have emerged from the Fade itself; invisible, invincible thread sewing between them stitches from which they could not trespass, but _that_ did not force her. It was _her_ decision, ultimately, and perhaps one to become her mistake if fate had ordained it to be so. Silently, earnestly, she hoped it had not.

“Would you prefer that I move instead to the lap of Commander Cullen, or perhaps Blackwall?” she asked her with the hint of a smile.

Sera didn't hesitate. “Uh, yes. Less weird, more predictable, more. . . _right_.”

Solas, at that, could only wince; an expression Sera chose not to observe. He was about to stand, to leave as he should have _much_ earlier, when Nissa turned over in his lap, pushing her nose into the soft cotton of his garb.

She inhaled deeply. His smell comforted her more than most; a mixture of scents she could not describe that left her with an ache for a home both unseen and unknown to her; a quiet place deep within some artificial nostalgia of hers;  _lathbora viran._  She grabbed his hand and pressed her thumb into his palm; a small thing, perhaps, but enough. He could feel the curve of her lips as she smiled against his thigh. He took a breath and relaxed back down in a weary sort of way.

He looked up at Sera with an indignant sort of acceptance. “Sera, have you considered that since the Inquisitor is no _human -_ distant, too, from _your_ ability to ignore your blood- that people treat her differently without even realizing it? The Knight Commander and Blackwall and all your heroic men included? That she may find comfort in like faces? And that she, too, is a mage, living forever now under an eye of suspicion she cannot shake? Let her- let _us,_ have our peace.”

Sera could only roll her eyes. _Always_ with the the philosophical implications and pouting melancholy and unnerving reserve! Artificial, boring excuses for ignoring the simple, hardy truth. _Their burden, not mine._

“Right, sure. Continue being weird, get weirder, burn down the forest, and then some. Nod and smile because “Elv-ahn pride” right? Fine.”

At that Sera walked off, her hands flying up in defeat. Nissa and Solas were quiet for a moment, hearing only her fading steps.

“Thank you, Solas.”

Nissa's voice was quiet and her disposition suddenly solemn despite its previous determination to stay unmoved. Her eyes remained closed as she brought the flower in her hand to her chest. The variety of the world, of the opinions on opinions masked and distorted by ignorance and pride and hatred, left her uncomfortably aware of the vast, impossible net in which they all resided, doomed to untangle themselves forever or remain placid in discomfort and oppression. She sighed. The _woods_ did not have such depth, and instead left her alone to brood in peace without argument or alteration. Perhaps her desire to remain unchanged and unmoved, entirely within herself and _content_ with that, was selfish, in a mild sort of way. Yet not a soul would care, let alone claim _selfishness,_ had she remained the Dalish girl in the trees, alone and benignant, while some noble man claimed the title she now held.

Solas, noting the altered mood with regret, tilted up her jaw to kiss her cheek, her ear, the corner of her mouth. She rolled over to face him and looked up, eyelashes near white in the sun, with the reminder that she could, indeed, _let_ herself be vulnerable; there was no hardened barrier, no unbreakable shell, as she had convinced herself for so long. She kissed him back; catching his lips just barely, admiring the faint freckles spotting the cheek so close to hers.

Solas leaned in so that the tip of his nose was on hers and paused for a moment to feel her breath against him; to smell her smell and to be, for a moment, with her alone.

“Vhenan, know that in this-” he moved to brush her lips with his; a gentle, quiet gesture. “We share.”

 _This._ She remained silent, considering his meaning. A thousand things and nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little bit of nothing thrown together in an attempt to release some Solavellan emotions. Yes, yes- not a healthy relationship, I know; but it's just so enduring and bittersweet, especially when combined with an Inquisitor like mine who is so hesitant to care about anyone beyond herself (oh deep-rooted fear of loss trope, how I adore you) And then she lets herself /really/ care and accepts that vulnerability... and for what? A lying man who ends up wanting to destroy the world. That most definitely has its impacts. Poor Lavellan.  
> I tried to write Sera as more than "she comes and annoys them a little" because I appreciate her character, buuuut that is essentially what she's doing in this little fic so hopefully it's not too much of a bad light on her.  
> Also, I apologise for all the semicolons. Gotta love 'em.


End file.
